


Potions Cook-Off

by Elfwreck



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Challenge Response, Contests, Cooking, Dismemberment, Filk, Gen, Humor, POV Third Person Omniscient, Poetry, Potions, Satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-18
Updated: 2008-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-02 00:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfwreck/pseuds/Elfwreck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape and Molly Weasley in a cook-off. Prompt from <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=mechaieh"><img/></a><a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/mechaieh/"><span>mechaieh</span></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Potions Cook-Off

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by, and strongly derivative of, Shel Silverstein's [The Great Smoke-Off](http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/60751-Sheldon-Allan-Silverstein-The-Smoke-Off). (If you haven't read it, it's not necessary--but it's worth reading anyway. Provided for reference, and 'cos those who recognize it may want to reread the original.) Written for the [Snape-A-Rama Instant AU Challenge](http://bethbethbeth.livejournal.com/300484.html). Beta'd by [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=dbmyrrha)[dbmyrrha](http://www.livejournal.com/users/dbmyrrha/) and [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=stabbitydeath)[stabbitydeath](http://www.livejournal.com/users/stabbitydeath/), who were both terrific.

In the wizard realms of Britain, the Burrow's foremost witch  
Was little Molly Weasley, a right and proper bitch.  
She'd borne seven kids, and cooked &amp; cleaned, taught them all to thrive  
And rumour has it she's the fastest potions-brewer alive.  
Her legend reached to Azkaban, the dungeons deep below  
Where Snape the Traitor served his time for crimes that we all know.  
His yellowed fingers push his greasy hair out of his eyes,  
He says, "I'd love the chance to prove to all, those rumours are just lies."

So an owl gets sent to Molly, "For a chance at early parole,  
Old Snape requests a cook off!" And Molly says, "My soul!  
I'll chop and stir so fast he'll spin; he'll think that he's been flayed."  
Says Severus, "I'll show that bint a master of the trade."  
So they borrow Hogwarts' Great Hall, and announce it in the Prophet:  
"This might get crude—whatever's brewed, the other has to quaff it!"  
From every realm and region, from every land and nation,  
Folks pour into the contest-hall, from every rank and station--  
Merfolk from the under-lake, ghosts who have no life,  
And the centaurs from the forest, who disdain most human strife  
And the hags who live in ocean caves, and a giant with his wife.

See the wizards from Arabia wearing turbans, silk and sable,  
See a hedge-witch and three pureblood lords, together at a table.  
From the house-elves from the kitchen to the werewolves from the hills  
To the other living Death Eaters, still on trial for their kills.  
And the hall of Godric, Rowena, Helga and Salazar  
Is filled with shouts and gossip and bustling like a bazaar  
Then Snape and Molly take the stage, scowl deeply at each other,  
The crowd, it gets all quiet, with a speculative mutter.  
And center stage has potions gear: cauldrons, blades and more  
The sides are stacked with jars and bags, ingredients galore.

Moonmoth wingtips, shrivelfig seeds, and aconite in bloom  
Bicorn horn and Boomslang skin, and the rare gold ostrich plume,  
Fangs from dragons, venom in a flagon, quill of porcupine,  
Mandrake root and wormwood, and beetle legs ground up fine.  
Gillyweed leaves and lionfish spines, and lacewings by the ton  
And the extract of sativa that makes everything more fun.  
And there's a stack of bezoars in case anything goes wrong,  
And feather-fans for the audience for when the fumes get strong.  
And Snape, he sneers at everyone, and Molly, she just grins,  
And the fires burn low—the crowd yells "GO!"—and the potions cook-off begins.

Snape slices, mixes, pours and stirs, and POOF! His potion's made,  
But Molly's just as fast and so their first test is a trade.  
The traitor drinks—his hair falls out—she drinks, and ages fifty years—  
They turn back to their cauldrons and they reach for scales and shears.  
He gives her wings and tentacles, and his skin turns scaly and thick.  
And the crowd sits back to watch because this might not be so quick.  
See the blur of knives and knuckles, see the flames flare up and die  
As night turns into morning, and another day goes by.  
Days turn into weeks, and summer's gone in a just a blink,   
But on the stage, the two still brew, chop-mix-pour-swap and drink.

With shaking hands he stirs his pot, his blistered fingers slow;  
She measures out by touch and smell; her vision comes and goes.  
Then one last swap—they both turn pink—and Snape cries out "Nothing!"  
"There's nothing left to brew! Not a single stem or wing!"  
"Nothing left to brew?" she says, "I think you've made a mistake!  
"I see Eye of Git, and Tongue of Snark, and Head of the Murdering SNAKE!"   
And she grabs him by his robes and pulls him down to the chopping block  
Then she dumps his severed head into a silver cooking pot,  
And brews him in his own red blood, simmers him down till he stops.  
She calls the end result "Extract of Snape, A Poison Moste Vile."  
And the potions master who thought he was faster ends up in a silver phial.

In the wizard realms of Britain, the Burrow's foremost witch  
Is little Molly Weasley, a righteous mother bitch.  
She raised seven kids and there's five that still live, and the rumour is still spread  
That she's the fastest potions-brewer, among the living or the dead.  
While in the lobby at Azkaban, in a niche high up on the wall  
There's the wand and robes of Severus Snape, in plain view of the hall.  
A tiny plaque at the bottom warns of following his ways:  
"_You might be worth more in the pot than stirring it someday._"


End file.
